Desire
by The Lonely Black Cat
Summary: 221 Baker street acquires a new tenant, with a big secret. Rebecca is determined to achieve her goal and tie the loose ends with family, but certain emotions for a certain consulting detective arise and burn through her life like fire. Rated T just in case. No Johnlock, not really. SherlockxOC.
1. So Sudden and New

**Okay! My first fanfic that might actually go somewhere! Now, I absolutely can not guarantee a good story, and I can almost guarantee that it will go no where. Sorry, but I'm doing my best!...do be kind. :)**

**Don't own Sherlock...dang it...**

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_Some say the world will end in fire_

"Here we are. 221 Baker Street."

A taxi pulled up along the curb in front of the address. Rain plummeted mercilessly on the residents of London, the sky churning with the grays of storm.

The young woman in the taxi payed the driver and kindly refused his help to retrieve her luggage. She stepped out into the rain, hardly acknowledging that her dark auburn hair had begun to frizz and curl. She retrieved her two bags from the back, both simple, black, and functional, and lugged them to the sidewalk. She bode the driver a smile as he drove off and as she turned to the front door. 221 Baker Street. Her new home...

At a quick glance she found a figure in one of the windows. Male, tall, slender, and cunning. He was hiding in the curtains at an obscure angle, almost out of sight. So presumably cunning. But if you can see some one, they can probably see you.

The young woman played at naïveté, and instead of making her discover of the viewer known to him, she walked to the door and knocked. The rain pelted down and she finally noticed her hair-

"Oh! You must be Rebecca Phillips! Please dear come inside! I'll introduce you to the boys!" Rebecca was greeted by presumably the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, whom she had been corresponding with for the last few weeks over the matter of renting a flat. "Oh, let me take your things, dear! I've got a cup of tea over on the table for you in the kitchen. Go warm up and I'll place these in your room."

Rebecca watched Mrs. Hudson with a degree of uncertainty. She tried to stammer something of a well practiced greeting, but the woman proceeded to gather Rebecca's things and desert her in the doorway. Suddenly alone, Rebecca inched forward cautiously. She stepped quietly over to the previously mentioned table and meticulously raked the area for details.

Her observations were cut short. "Oh, are you the new girl?" Rebecca whirled around and she found a new man standing in front of her. Shorter (well, more her height, which was short). Blonde. Short hair, indication of military, possibly. Weight shifted on one foot, due to injury to the other leg. Sweater...well, sweater...jeans. Trainers. Wardrobe indicates casual, laid back, calm, slow, indelicate to fashion thus relying on simplicity.

She looked up from her silent analysis, "Yes, I'm Rebecca Philips."

"John Watson." He smiled warmly and extended his hand. The two shook hands and at that moment a gun went off, shattering the engaging atmosphere.

Rebecca, not exactly startled, (more curious then ever, actually. Her new home was proving to be entertaining) flinched and gaped upward, the sound obviously originating from above. John gave a troubled groan. He pleaded under his breath as he turned and ascended the stairs, "Not today. Please Sherlock, don't do this today."

Mrs. Hudson ran up to Rebecca as she began taking off her knitted scarf, "Oh my, dear. I'm so sorry, it's nothing to worry abo-"

"It's plenty alright, Mrs. Hudson. You warned me about the consulting detective." Rebecca held out her scarf to the landlady, "Would you mind putting this with my things while I meet him?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced at the scarf and took it gingerly, "Oh?" Rebecca smiled at the woman cheekily and brushed past her to the stairs. Mrs. Hudson stammered, "Do be delicate, darling. He could...lash out."

Rebecca turned back, "I'll keep that in mind." She continued up the steps, catching bits of dialogue:

"Sherlock, you're going to frighten the new girl."

"Bored!"

"You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock! We've got a guest, a new resident, essentially flatmate. And you're acting like a five year old."

"How many five year olds have guns, John?" Another gunshot sounded as Rebecca reached the top of the stairs. She tip-toed to the ajar door.

"Sherlock, seriously. Rebecca is probably scared out of her wits right now."

"Rebecca is eavesdropping at our front door, John. What does that say about her wits?"

Rebecca smirked and pushed the door open. "Eavesdropping inquires that I'm sneaky and nosy. Wits are useful for excuse when caught spying, so seeing as how I was caught, I'd better be witty."

Rebecca surveyed her opponent. Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. Standing shirtless on a coffee table. In an askew flat with a gun in hand. Aimed at her. Rebecca tried not to roll her eyes: cunning _and_ erratic; wonderful.

"John, please show her out. " Sherlock cocked the gun towards Rebecca.

"She's staying here. I told you, Sherlock, she's renting the flat below us."

Sherlock grimaced, "There's a flat below us?"

"And you're the bloody detective." John grumbled. Rebecca suppressed unexpected laughter. Sherlock aimed at John, though John's expression remained annoyed and slightly tired. John held out his hand for the gun. Sherlock squirmed and reluctantly thrust the weapon into John's hand, stepping off the mangled coffee table.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. Gay? She looked at John. Definitely controlling and monitoring the unpredictable man-child. That shows loyalty, which could suggest a relationship...but Sherlock... She tilted her head slightly as she tried to decide. Ignorant. He doesn't want a relationship to such a degree. Mere partnership so some one can baby-sit him...then again...

Her thought was severed as the detective advanced towards her. His eyes searched her, casually, as though it was nothing to be thought of, but she definitely noticed. She could feel him prodding her appearance for answers. "Rebecca Philips." She forced a warm smile and held out her hand. Sherlock ignored her greeting and loomed over her instead, still searching.

Rebecca huffed after a few moments of thick, strange awkwardness and stepped back to the door casually, never tearing her eyes from his. She smiled meekly, "It was nice to meet you two. John." She finally looked to the man standing alone amidst the awkward and nodded. He gave an unsure nod in return. "Sherlock." She nodded to the detective. He merely narrowed his eyes.

Rebecca then turned on her heel and left. She floated down the stairs, so lost in thought that she completely ran into Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh! How did it go, dear?" The landlady asked.

Rebecca barely heard her, "Hmm? Oh, alright."

Mrs. Hudson nodded happily, as though she was pleased with herself, and traced Rebecca's steps upstairs to confront the two men herself.

Rebecca steadied herself at the base of the stairs and frowned. "What is this feeling?" She whispered.


	2. Adulterated Loathing

**Okay, yah, this chapter's got problems. Most of them will...sorry. **

**I know Rebecca's secret may be really confusing, but I'm trying to keep it a big surprise, so when there's unfinished thoughts or confusing information about it, just move on and try to understand that I'm bad at this. Bare with me!**

**Thank you to those who read. I write for you guys, even when I should be doing homework...or sleeping...**

**Thank you!**

**-Cemari**

**And I ****do not own Sherlock or anything else amazing like that...**

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**Updated! Because there were some major structure issues and inexusably grammar errors. Sorry guys, that was terrible, it must have been a pain to read. Well, at least for me it was... Yell at me if there's something wrong with my chapters from here on out! ;)**

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_Some say in ice_

Rebecca woke up with a start, images of a nightmare dancing across her vision. She sat up, stood quickly after throwing off her one thin, patched blanket and tried to walk off the groggy thickness of emotion that coursed through her. Nightmares had become too frequent now, and she was starting to believe it was because she was so close...

She found herself scaling the stairs up to the main floor. She emerged at the base of the stairs to John and Sherlock's flat, almost completely unaware she was still wearing her pajamas: short, short, short, short shorts and a worn-out, satined, stretched tank top. That thought only occurred when Sherlock threw open his door with John yelling behind him. "Sherlock! Wait!"

"There's no time, John! There's been a murder!" Sherlock practically flew down the stairs, barely missing Rebecca as she dodged him. Self-awareness screamed at her over her attire; Rebecca felt herself blushing.

John huffed down the stairs and noticed Rebecca as Sherlock raced through the front door and slammed it with a loud, very loud slam. The doctor gave an unsure laugh scratching a sudden itch at the nape of his neck, "Sorry, did he wake you?"

"Wha-? Oh! No, no. It's fine, he didn't wake me." Rebecca stuttered. She hugged her stomach, covering various stains that decorated her shirt.

"Oh, good. Uh, we've got a murder case, so we won't be in your hair today." He gestured towards the door Sherlock had mistreated and shifted his weight.

Rebecca nodded quickly, "Oh." She bit her bottom lip and tried to end the conversation. John obviously wasn't because all he was doing was standing there with an unsure, stupid expression creasing his face. So she rocked on her feet and turned to the stairs to her flat, formally adding, "Good luck." Still awkward...

"Thanks," John smiled and he turned to the front door. "See you."

Rebecca waved slightly and turned quickly to descend the stairs. Every step she took down filled her head with more and more doubt and scornful comments at her awkwardness, until the metaphoric weight forced her to collapse onto her sheet-less mattress.

"This is so much more difficult, then I thought," she moaned into her pillows. "Moving in was supposed to be easy."

A knock on her door startled her, and Mrs. Hudson's voice quickly followed, "Ms. Rebecca? Would you like to come shopping with me, sweetheart? You must need to get your groceries, don't you? I know the best place to go for a deal on tea."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I'll be up in a moment." Rebecca heaved her self from the bed and lugged herself over to the two suitcases resting next to her door. Already she wished for the day to be over.

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"Ms. Rebecca, dear." Mrs. Hudson rushed to Rebecca. The two women were at the store, Rebecca at the cashier, and Mrs. Hudson bringing forgotten biscuits. "Rebecca, would you like to go out for a drink tonight with the boys?"

Rebecca blinked and nearly missed the young cashier informing her of the net price, "John and Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded and add the biscuits to her items. She smiled, "John wanted to do it as a welcome event for you. So you can get to know them better."

Rebecca finally noticed the cashier trying to get her attention and apologized swiftly to him. She pulled out her wallet. "And Sherlock?"

"What of him, dear?" Mrs. Hudson blinked up at her.

Rebecca handed the cashier her pay and clarified for the landlady, "Sherlock, where does he stand on the matters of this 'welcome event'?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled slightly, suddenly fingering at the bags of chips in her stock pile as if checking for holes, "Oh, dear, you know how Sherlock is."

Rebecca frowned and gathered her two bags from the ever impatient cashier. She, in fact, didn't know Sherlock. Does he even drink? She knew the basics, of course; the few obvious things she was able to notice at barely a glance. But she hadn't gotten a real chance to asses his behavior...

The fact that she didn't exactly drink caught a bit of her attention for a fraction of a second. 'Not exactly' meaning she only drank on special occasions. Alcohol messed with her perceptions greatly, which was not a desirable side effect. In fact, that's the one reason she avoided it, so she could maintain her thoughts and keenness for the details.

"I'll go." Rebecca informed her landlady.

Mrs. Hudson smiled wide and said in her cheery voice, "Wonderful, I'll let John know. How about I take your things to the flat and you can go meet them?"

Before she could think, Rebecca agreed and thanked her.

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John stood and smiled when Rebecca walked into the restaurant. The place was crowded with people, and Rebecca was grateful she could see John in the sea of she approached she noticed Sherlock sulking in a chair next to John's, staring moodily out the window. He rolled his eyes and sighed melodramatically when John greeted Rebecca.

Once seated Rebecca spoke, glancing at Sherlock casually, trying to make it seem that she thought he was excited to converse with her, "Thank you so much, John, Sherlock. You honestly didn't have to do this."

Sherlock sighed again and John replied quickly to cover his flatmate's lack of hospitality, "We wanted to. Just a get-together to get to know one another."

Sherlock snorted and started a monotone analysis, "Mid-twenties, concerned constantly about her hair because she's self-concious. Plays at emotions to convince others to think her way."

John's expression faltered and his smile soured slightly, "Sherlock, don't-"

Rebecca engaged the situation and gave her own input to counter his, "Whenever anyone opens their mouth they are trying to convince someone." John glanced at Rebecca, surprised at her attempt at refutal.

Sherlock, unfazed in any way, continued, "Packed light. No sign of sentimental value in her suitcase, just enough clothing for maybe 8 days. No room for the family scrapbook."

Rebecca shrugged and shifted her attention to the menu, "Starting over. Didn't want anything to weigh me down."

"Family death. Mother." Sherlock finally looked from the window to Rebecca who was still engrossed in the menu. She showed no shortfall in her facade of nonchalantness.

"Brother." He tried again. Rebecca's blood froze. She tried to cover it, but her fear caused her attention to short-circuit. Her eyes ceased browsing as her mind kicked into defense mode. _He can't know..._

"Sherlock, stop-" John growled and glared at the detective.

"No, not a brother." Sherlock decided, having notice her sudden, slight change. "Father."

Rebecca gave a shaky breath and played along with it. _He doesn't know the truth..._

"Yeah," she sighed, folding the menu gently and pressing her fingertips along the creases as she stared down, "My dad died."

"So you came from America just to do what?" Sherlock pondered aloud. "Not just starting over, not just getting away. Informing-"

"Informing my sister." She lied. Sherlock knew she could persuade people by faking emotion, so she tried to avoid overkill that would've passed for anyone else. She bit her lip and met his eyes for a moment before meeting John's.

John stammered, obviously believing her charade, "Rebecca, I'm so sorry."

She nodded in acknowledgment and pretended to fall deep into her thoughts. But her mind was aching with concentration on Sherlock. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him staring, assessing her every move. She was conscious of every move her body made, every breath and twitch.

She could not let him find out. That she was here to settle a feud with her sibling. To avenge her mother's death, not inform about her father's. But doing so wouldn't be easy. Intelligence and stealth had been passed down in Rebecca's family. Finding that sibling would prove difficult and strenuous. With Sherlock around, maybe she could derive some clues-

"Excuse me a moment." John informed. He stood and left, Rebecca knowing her was in search for the bathroom.

An extremely tense silence followed. Sherlock stared relentlessly. Rebecca simply gave up on her entire mopey scam and turned to the menu. She spoke first to steer the situation back to normal, "How was the murder?"

"Intelligent and sly," Sherlock continued his deductions. "You're hiding more." He corrected his posture and straightened up from his slouched position to loom over the table-top.

"Was it entertaining for you?" Rebecca tried half-heartedly to veer back to her initial subject.

"Don't try to hide your emotions from me, it's annoying and unattractive," He growled.

Rebecca snapped her gaze to his and spat back, "Look who's talking."

Suddenly, a waitress in a black uniform and a high, blonde ponytail came out from behind and asked, "I'm so sorry for the wait, can I get you two lovebirds something to drink?"

Sherlock slumped back and denied the joyful woman's vulgar statement, "We. Are. Not. Together."

"I loathe you, too, sweetie," was Rebecca's irritated reply, as she too slumped back.

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**Has anyone noticed Wicked references? Yah, (don't own Wicked, either ****of course) I thought I'd point out how much of a nerdy weirdo I am for incorporating that in here. :)**


	3. Insight

**I don't know what to say. I'm a terrible person! I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, and then I upload this CRAP! I'm sorry guys. This chapter was hard enough, and then I had rehearsal for a musical and freaking summer homework that I am TOTALLY BEHIND ON! I've been somewhat freaking and stressing out for the last two months. Please forgive me, or don't. There isn't much I can do. The storyline is terrible and so is my life. :) and yet I carry on. Thank you so much for reading, and I'm sorry that I give you this terrible chapter after waiting so long...oh gosh this is so bad...**

**~Cemari**

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_He must be hiding. Hiding? Not hiding. He's lurking. But where? No crimes. No "accidents". No riddles. Nothing for miles of the great detective's home. _

Rebecca's troubled thoughts about her mission wrestled for control in her mind the instant she awoke from troubled nightmares. She thought being this close to Sherlock Holmes would at least provide some information to the whereabouts of her akin adversary. She was desperate for clues, and impatience had begun to take it's toll.

Rebecca emerged from the stairwell and headed straight into Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, where the landlady was brewing a morning tea.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." Rebecca yawned.

"Good morning dear. Would you like some tea?" Mrs. Hudson began pouring the tea from the blue iron kettle into a mug.

Rebecca sniffled, "Um...thank you, but I was actually going to stick with the coffee I bought yesterday." She opened two cabinets, unsure as to which contained the coffee tin. When it caught her eye, she pulled it down to show Mrs. Hudson.

The woman playfully scoffed, "How strange. Do you not like tea?"

"I actually lived in America for most of my child-hood, in New York. My dad always drank coffee, so it feels natural to do the same." Rebecca explained, beginning to prepare the drink and forcing a smile. A part of her on the inside cringed as she smiled at the thought of her father, but she retained her facade.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and smiled, but as she opened her mouth to comment, a door slammed open from above and Sherlock's voice carried down into the kitchen: "Another murder! John! Let's go!"

_Another murder_, Rebecca thought. _Maybe..._

Without realizing it Rebecca had run to the bottom of the staircase, itching for more information. And Sherlock nearly collided with her.

Rebecca dodged him, but tripped and fell against the wall. Sherlock hadn't slowed down, so he easily turned on his heel to face her once in front of the door. He didn't say anything, but his eyes told all she needed to know: "_Stay out of my way_."

John emerged from the flat above and stumbled down into the intense moment, completely unaware. He huffed at the bottom step and stuttered as Sherlock exited, clearly upset that he was being left behind. Rebecca spoke to console him in a way, "I hope you have a good day. Murders must be fun with Sherlock." She offered a half-hearted smile and as she carefully plotted the conversation.

"As if," John snorted. "No, he never stops being himself. Even when there isn't a case. He will be an arrogant, annoying know-it-all. I don't know why I put up with him."

"He's your friend," Rebecca reasoned, slightly annoyed that he hadn't said anything useful.

John chuckled, "Yes, I suppose."

Rebecca rocked on her heels, suddenly awkward amid John's thoughts. She cleared her throat, "Well, I sure hope it won't be too long of a day."

"Oh, no," John blinked his thought away and stepped towards the door. "The scene is only a couple blocks down; in that old business building that was scheduled to be torn down." He said this as if she knew the entire city plans only after a day.

Nevertheless, she nodded and smiled as though she did know and watched him leave. She thought to herself a brief moment, and made her way to the kitchen again. "Mrs. Hudson," she declared to the landlady, who was gathering her purse and coat, "I'm going to make a pie."

Mrs. Hudson gave a surprised smile, "Oh! Lovely dear! What kind?"

Rebecca did not hesitate as she answered: "Apple."


End file.
